Death Bunnies
by Pjaay
Summary: Nora and Deacon are a formidable team, hell-bent on scourging the Commonwealth of all the bad guys. Except, for some reason, Nora has been acting distant these last couple of weeks - and her partner in crime can't seem to get her out of his head.


Nora was acting strange.

Ever since they had climbed to the roof of some pre-war building and taken down a super mutant behemoth with their sniper rifles, she had been oddly distant. Deacon wasn't blind, he knew that she was hurting from a whole myriad of things, but for the first time in their six month partnership, he felt like the distasteful mood was directed _at him_. He was even a little worried that it was _his_ fault she was upset.

Swan's Pond was murky, green and thick with slime. As they both stared from the distant rooftop, the dirty colours swirled with viscid, red blood in a dance of disgusting fluids, one of which oozed from the bullet wounds that were peppered across the mutant's body. His heavy frame had sunk straight to the bottom of the shallow water until all that showed above the surface was his sickly grey-skinned spine, and a rotted, peeling, and otherwise decrepit swans head just peeking out from the water nearby.

When the railroad agent had turned around to face his partner in crime with a shit-eating grin on his lips and a cheer for the ' _Death Bunnies_ ' on the tip of his tongue, he was greeted with a woman who had doubled down into a fit of hysteria, on her knees, crying into her palms as if nobody was looking. He didn't really remember much after that, aside from hearing the clatter of his rifle as it fell to the ground, and the feeling of Nora's sleek vault suit against his calloused hands as he scooped her into his arms - only for her to cry even harder into his shoulder.

Deacon frowned, remembering the scene from a few weeks back, jabbing irritably at the crackling campfire with a long stick. He watched as his poking twig caught fire, and he pretended to write his own name in the air as a strange kind of restless boredom swooped across him. The little flame on the end of the stick eventually puttered out, leaving a trail of wispy vapor in its wake, and so he resumed poking the fire that was busy keeping him and his partner warm. Plumes of dark grey smoke blotted out the face that sat on the other side of the temporary camp. For what felt like the millionth time; Nora wasn't sitting next to him, and they were spending their evening in a weird, semi-comfortable silence.

"Hey, Whisper?" Deacon asked eventually, the silence finally grating away his resolve. He didn't wait for her to acknowledge him, "are you... Are you alright?"

He just about heard her disgruntled sigh behind the loud crackling of the campfire, and he watched from behind his tinted sunglasses as Nora pulled herself to her feet, shuffling around the edge of the warmth until she sat at his side, on top the other half of his sleeping bag. He blinked at her with wide eyes as she stared into the fire. It had been so long since she had sat beside him when they hunkered down for the night.

"Why do you wear those glasses?" She asked him quietly, despite not turning her attention away from the crackling fire, "it's not even daytime now."

A nervous chuckle worked its way into his mouth, and he fiddled with the glasses that sat atop his nose, preparing his confidence.

"You know why I wear these - I've told you before!" he grinned, though she couldn't see the worry he was trying his hardest to cover up. Worry for her. "All it would take is someone _recognizing_ my eyes and _bam!_ I'd have hitmen after me. Like, _real_ hitmen. More organised than Gunners... I bet."

She sighed. It was a defeated sort of sound that made his heart sink to his stomach. Almost.

Not at all the response he was expecting, Deacon turned to look at her properly. He could see the gentle lick of the flames as they reflected against her chocolate irises, the rosiness of her skin almost too tempting to touch as it slowly warmed before the campfire. Her eyelids were batting softly as she drew a long breath, and let it ease gently out of her nose. She looked troubled, but calm at the same time. Deacon thought she was beautiful.

He knew they were dangerous things to think about - to call her beautiful in his mind. But then again, they were just thoughts. Thoughts that nobody could hear and were absolutely secret, so really, he saw no problem in it. What he _did_ see a problem with, however, was how hard to was not to just tell her how he felt. It was almost as if he felt his feelings towards the vault dweller were superficial, like he shouldn't be allowed to love somebody as perfect as her.

Love. Yeah, it hadn't taken him long to decide that was what he wanted to call it. After months of travelling together, he had seen her at her best, at her worst, and every step in between. And if he dwelled on it, he _did_ think she was perfect. He had tailed her across the Commonwealth when her ordeal first started, and he was beyond excited when she naturally ended up at the door to the Railroad, spouting something about being lucky that she guessed the password that Deacon had come up with. He almost chuckled as he remembered her later confiding with him that having the organisations name as the 'super secret' password isn't that smart. Deacon had countered that the average wastelander wasn't that smart either.

He _did_ think she was perfect. The way she spoke, the way she held herself, how she used words in a way that wraps people around her nimble fingers - these traits had convinced Deacon that she was as good as the world should be. But, despite his feelings growing steady, he realised pretty soon that he was never going to be as good as she deserved - he'd never replace her husband, and he sure as hell didn't deserve to.

That's not to say it ever stopped him flirting with her, calling her cutesy little names like 'sugar' or 'dumpling', just to see how many buttons he could press before she got irate with him. Despite that, it was never reciprocated beyond a lingering touch on the arm, a gaze that was held for a second or two longer than if she, for instance, was having a conversation with Piper. The premise of Deacon wiggling his way further into this world was exciting, but ultimately seemed as if he had been shot down and gravely wounded. She refused to look him in the eye, now.

His heart took a dangerous leap, and Deacon realised he'd not reacted to his partner in crime's defeated sigh. He frowned and spluttered out his words, "not convincing enough for you, right?"

She looked at him properly, and her eyes were unbelievably sad, yet an affectionate smile had wormed its way to her delicate mouth. Deacons chest tightened with longing - it had been a while since he'd seen that smile.

"Not at all, Deeks."

"Tell me something," he said quickly, taking hold of the rare chance that she decided to show any emotion other than sadness. She peered over at him with a large doe stare. He pretended not to notice her hand brushing against his forearm as he relaxed back on his elbows, but his skin felt on fire from her fleeting graze. He hurriedly added, "and I'll tell you something about me."

Nora rolled her eyes, bringing her hand away from the 'accidental-touch-zone' that existed near Deacon's arm, opting rather to hug her knees to her chest. She seemed quick to realize the dangers of sitting too close to somebody, "you tell me things about you all the time."

"Ah," he said, shifting his weight onto one arm so he could wiggle a finger at her, pointing, "something about me that's _true_."

She seemed temporarily distracted from the troubled thoughts that were bringing her down, twisting her body to face him as he made himself more comfortable on the dusty ground. Disbelief had washed away the other emotions that were previously plaguing in her eyes. Curiosity took the reigns.

"Something _true_?" She asked, and he nodded enthusiastically.

"Something true." He parroted, grinning at her.

"As in... _not_ a lie. A _real_ Deacon fact?"

He nodded, "a real, unblemished, tale from the _encyclopedia of_ _me_."

Nora almost got caught up in the excitement of learning something brand new and ultimately _true_ from her traveling partner, but quickly she remembered that it was meant to be an exchange of information - not just story time for her benefit. She released her legs from against her chest, and turned on the spot to watch Deacon as he grinned up at her with raised eyebrows. She then lent forward, reaching out to brush a bit of dirt off his forehead with a sad smile. Deacon tried to ignore the hope that she was leaning forward to do more than just wipe dirt from his skin, and fought valiantly against the impulse to grab her by the wrists and pull her onto his chest.

"You want to ask me something about the past few weeks, right?" She said sullenly, ripping Deacon back from his sultry thoughts. He watched as she sat back and looked at him intently.

"Good guess," he said carefully, "yeah, I wanted to know what I've done wrong."

Her eyes snapped open wide and she sat a little taller, lips suddenly pursed. Deacon felt his entire demeanor sink as he realized that his own suspicions had been confirmed - that he _had_ done something to make her upset.

She started to beat around the bush, not meeting his eyes and her face rising with a peachy blush.

"Oh, well… Uh, I don't… I don't know if I-"

Deacon wrenched himself up into a sitting position and roughly grabbed the babbling woman's wrists. He stared at her, and her shocked eyes darted across his face. It must have been hard for her to be unable to meet his eyes behind his sunglasses. He contemplated taking them off for a moment, but quickly realized that he hadn't even explained himself yet.

"Whisper," he said, and she gave a small nod, eyes glassy. He released his grip on her thin wrists, but still held them gently, "ever since that time at Boston Common, you've been real weird. I don't think you've looked at me longer than, what, a second?"

With a defeated sigh, the leader of the Death Bunnies slumped in defeat. It was such a strange sight to behold - she was the woman who had single handedly taken down an Institute courser, lead the Minutemen to victory over a Mirelurk Queen and reclaimed their old headquarters. Hell, she was the woman who had taken down _hundreds_ of first and second generation synths at the Switchboard - so he had told Desdemona, but he wouldn't be surprised if she could - and yet she seemed defeated by the death of some super mutant in some gross old pond in some dilapidated old park. Deacon really didn't get it, and he didn't _like_ that he didn't get it. It was almost as if he felt cheated out of the friendship they shared - she could normally rattle off her problems to him without a worry, and he'd be able to help, but this time she had closed up like a vault door.

"You don't understand," she sighed eventually, giving up and relaxing into his grip. He lowered her hands to the ground and moved them so he could lace his fingers with hers. A risky move, and Nora seemed to notice this. She tensed into his touch, but he ignored it, just as he was ignoring his staccato heartbeat as it thundered away behind his ears and down through his fingertips. Nora drew a shaky breath as she spoke.

"Boston common," she said, almost dreamily, in a voice that told him she was about to start reminiscing. Her eyes swept up to try and meet his, only to be stopped by blackened lenses, "it was where I met Nate."

Remorse flooded Deacons veins, and he started to pull away from his partner, but her fingers tightened and held him in place. He raised his eyebrows as she stared pleadingly at him.

"We were both waiting to ride the swan boats. He... He was there because he had been stood up by a girl, and I was on my lunch break from work. We were waiting in line next to each other, and I joked that it was strange to see a man want to ride the boats by himself," her eyes wandered to the fire and locked onto the flames as they licked the air, "he turned to me and said the same thing. We laughed at the absurdity of two adults choosing to ride some stupid swan boat by ourselves. Then, well, he asked if I wanted to ride with him."

Deacon opened his mouth to comment, but she had already started talking again.

"A few years later, it was where he asked me to marry him," she admitted, and her voice was so quiet that it was almost inaudible over the roar of the fire, "and it was... we... Shaun was conceived there."

She barked a short, pitiful laugh, and finally let go of Deacons hands.

He finally understood now. That area of Boston, the park, was a place that held many memories for Nora. Of her past life, of what she had created and lost. It was a constant reminder of the life that was long gone, never to come back.

"Thank god," Deacon said as he released a sigh, and Nora whipped her head around to stare daggers at him, he grinned and added, "I thought for a second that you had some deep connection with that swan mutant. I thought you hated me for getting the killing shot."

She punched him playfully on the shoulder, and he feigned hurt. But, he was glad to see the anguished resolve drain away from her eyes. Feeling his stomach give a sudden twist, he gave into an impulse and reached forward, bundling the headstrong woman into his arms and pulling her onto his lap. She let out a small yelp of surprise, but quickly melted into his arms, burying her face into the crook of his neck. Deacon let out his own shaky breath, and wrapped his arms around her middle, resting his face against her head. Her warmth was far nicer than that of the fire.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into her hair, and she drew back to stare at him with an open mouth.

"What are you sorry for?"

"I had no idea you were hurting for... personal reasons. I just realized I've spent like, three weeks thinking you were angry at me."

She smiled at him, and this one was both convincing and heartwarming.

"I could never be angry at you, Deeks," she started, before her eyes lit up and she leaned back into his locked hands, " _also_ , it's time to hold up your end of the deal. You've got to tell me something truthful about your life."

Letting her out of his embrace, Deacon shuffled back and placed a thoughtful finger on his chin, "oh, I don't know. I don't feel fully convinced from _your_ story," his shaded eyes met hers, unbeknownst to her, "I don't think you're giving me the _real deal_ here. So, no comprende, amigo. Full story, or no story."

Nora looked uncomfortable again. She laced her fingers together and started biting her lip. Deacon couldn't help but find it absurd to see such a hardy woman get all nervous and jittery. He sneakily watched the blush rise up across her cheeks from over the top of his glasses as she looked away.

"I felt guilty," was all she spoke.

That was something Deacon wasn't expecting to hear.

"Guilty? For what?" He urged, strangely eager to hear what she had to say.

"For liking someone else," she mumbled. So quiet that this time Deacon _didn't_ hear her.

He edged a little closer.

"Sorry, what? Didn't catch you."

"I felt guilty because I think I've fall- I like for someone else," she said, and this time Deacon heard loud and clear.

She bit the nail on her thumb nervously, and from where he sat, she almost looked like she had a crown of fire surrounding her face. The flickering flames that sat behind her, illuminated her gentle chestnut curls. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and her eyebrows furrowed slightly. She looked more nervous than he had ever seen her, but at the same time he couldn't help but feel he was missing something entirely. Like she _still_ hadn't properly spilled the beans as to why her mood had been so barren the past few weeks, like she had been mulling over thoughts in her mind and struggling to articulate them somehow. She liked someone? What does that have to do with being in the place she made good memories with her late husband?

It took a few seconds, but eventually the cogs started turning in his mind. Up until that killing shot, from his part, on that half-collapsed roof in the surrounding area of Boston Common, they had been having a whale of a time. They had really made use of the high ground by picking off ghoul after ghoul, whooping and cheering for the wrath of the Death Bunnies as the rotting humans tried to swarm them but got no further than the base of the building. It was all fun and games until 'Swan' was disturbed and the creature with the boat strapped to his body started hurling concrete at them.

And then, he understood. They had a fantastic time in each other's company, atop that building, taking down enemies. They had clinked their Nuka-Cola's together in toast before the slaughter began and had cheered each other along when popping the heads of unsuspecting raiders that had wandered too far towards the pond. All that Nora could think about that entire time was that her happiest memories had all been born in that park, before the war, back when grass was green and mutated monsters didn't exist. Swan revealing himself must have been the final straw - seeing that stupid broken swan boat strapped to the body of a horribly mutated human must have brought reality crashing back down to her. Deacon putting a bullet through the mutant's head just solidified it all.

But, liking somebody else. That was tricky to understand at first, but Deacon gradually understood. She felt guilty for enjoying her time on that roof, with _him_. She felt guilty for trumping her time with Nate, and she felt guilty for leaving that world behind.

Deacon drew a deep breath, watching as Nora gave him a look that begged for understanding, and he barked out a worried chuckle, "c'mon now, don't look at me like that."

Nora said nothing, but instead let out a long sigh, her hands falling into her lap. She brushed a few strands of her wavy hair across behind her ear, and gave off an aura that all but admitted defeat.

"You can be so stupid sometimes."

He feigned hurt, clasping a hand over his heart, "oh, ouch, that one hurt."

"In fact, you're an idiot!" She said, raising her voice despite her wary smile.

"Oh god, oh no," Deacon drawled, falling back onto the ground dramatically, "my feelings. Help."

"Deacon, you're a fucking imbecile!" She bellowed, bursting with laughter.

He peeked up from under his glasses, "imbecile? What are you, a walking thesaurus?"

When he caught her eye, for real this time, he could see clearly that tears had glazed them over, but yet she was grinning from ear to ear. He decided to appease her. He reached up, perched on his elbows, and stiffly pulled off his sunglasses, discarding them to his side with an awkward _hurrah_. He blinked up at her, and she tilted her head in a very endearing way, lips pulled into a light smile. It was nice to see her deep brown eyes without a shaded tint across them.

"You've got nice eyes," she said softly, echoing his thoughts, before adding - a little harsher, "but you're _still_ an idiot."

"How come?"

She then gave a short grunt, pulling herself to her feet. She offered him a slender hand, which he took gratefully, and when he was standing beside her, she slipped her hands around his waist in order to pull him close. Caught off guard, he looked down at the woman who was clinging to him, hands gripping at his off-white shirt. Deacon lowered his arms to surround her, and after a few hesitant moments, hugged her back. He savoured the feeling of her slim body pressed up against his. Nora tightened the warm embrace and spoke into his collarbone.

"It's you, you idiot," she mumbled, and her fingers dug into his back as if she was afraid of his response. Instead, he planted a single, hesitant, gentle kiss on the crown of her head.

"It's alright," he said coolly, though he feared she could hear his heart racing at triple its normal speed, "I get it. It's... I like you too."

"Yeah?" She asked, voice still muffled.

"Yes. I do. And it's not a crime for you to like me either. No matter the past."

Deacon reluctantly let go of her, standing back and raising his arms to hold her face in his hands. She smiled up at him as he gently stroked her cheeks with his thumbs.

"Nora," he spoke gently, and he felt her shudder under his grip. It was rare that he ever said her real name, always opting to call her by her codename assigned by the Railroad - Whisper. She had told him her actual name in confidence during one of their earlier missions, but he was never prepared to tell her that he knew he name right from the beginning, when he tailed her across the Commonwealth. The brevity of him calling her by her real name, however, was astonishing. She melted into his hands with a flutter of her eyes, and another genuine smile snaked its way across her features. It also felt pretty good to watch her directly knowing that she finally didn't have to try and see past some shades.

"Nora," he repeated, and this time her eyes closed completely; she raised a hand to clasp the top of one of his, drawing a long and gentle sigh. He pulled her a little closer and released his free hand in order to hold her tightly against his chest. He let his other hand slide out from under hers, around her head, getting it tangled into her hair as he gripped her softly. She took a deep breath into his chest, and Deacon almost chuckled as he held back the desire to tell her that he probably smelled bad. _Would ruin the mood_ , he surmised to himself.

For a while longer, Deacon just held her tightly against his chest, wishing he knew what other words to say to make her happy. He _wanted_ her to be happy. He didn't want her to spend her life worrying about the past _or_ the future, or to cling onto old memories and compare them to new ones. He wanted more than anything to be there for her, and if that meant helping her grieve, then he was up for the task.

"Right!" He then announced suddenly, peeling himself away from the doe-eyed woman, putting her to arms length and grinning at her, "it's my turn!"

She looked up at him with curiousity, folding her arms across her chest and chewing the inside of her lip. A whole host of ideas flooded through his mind - what little snippet of his life could he tell her? What about him would she really want to hear, want to know? She already knew about Barbara - he had confided that rare little piece of his past with her after a long day of liberating runaway synths. This time, however, he needed something substantial. _More_ substantial, at least.

"There's something I've been wanting to tell you, for like," he frowned at himself at he stared past Nora and into the night sky, "I don't know, three months?"

Nora hesitated, opening her mouth to speak, but ultimately let him continue. He shuffled on the spot, placing his hands on his hips to feign confidence.

"Well I, uh…"

She was being patient with him, but there was a gleam in her eye that he noticed right away. There was something behind those chocolate irises that shouted, _go on! Say it! Do it!_ Her hands were also on her hips, and Deacon tried his hardest to ignore how _well_ her vault suit fitted her body, caving with her waist and flaring with her hips. Her long, dainty fingers were tapping gently against the blue suit.

"Deacon," she said, and her voice was soft. Far softer that he could ever remember it sounding. He almost felt dizzy as a wave of nerves jolted through him.

He was pretty sure he felt her hands as she stepped forward and placed them on his chest. She whispered something, but his buzzing mind didn't hear it.

When he finally snapped back with it, her hands draped over his shoulders, and her body was dangerously close to touching his again. He slowly raised his hands and clamped them softly on those _round, womanly_ hips. No hips like any other wastelander he'd ever come across.

Nora locked her hands behind his neck, and slowly drew him forwards, her eyes fluttered shut as Deacon's heart squeezed in anticipation. He managed a single exhale before he felt the satin soft touch of her lips as they brushed against his. A single, fanciful movement - but it was all he needed. He barely had a chance to sneak open his eyes to look at her in surprise before he pressed his own lips onto hers, locking them together. His strong hands pulled her fully against the length of his body, and her satisfied moan into his mouth told him all he needed to hear. Her arms tightened around his neck and he squeezed her with enthusiasm, smiling into the kiss as it deepened.

She smiled back, placing her hands on the back of his neck as she broke away from the kiss. Nora stood on her toes and planted a short, sweet peck on the end of his nose.

"I love you," Deacon breathed as she lowered herself, and he felt her entire body melt against him. He remained with his arms locked around her; there was no way he was about to let her go, "that's what I wanted to tell you."

Nora smiled up at him, bringing her arms down so she could wrap them around his torso.

"I know. I love you, too."


End file.
